Paul Kesler

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Best Poem of Paul Kesler

To Trilby

The sky is a greater musician than I:
the rains plays pizzicato on the rooftops
with no sign of fatigue;
clouds hit every note I miss
on my aging piano,
and crush my seasoned flourishes
with glissandos of thunder
and chords of ragged lightning.

I have taught you the
choreography of love,
the dance steps of passion;
the sly tilt of your head
as the rolled notes flow from your throat.

But nothing flows to me,
though the poses you strike,
like the lightning's fitful flashes,
compel the night sky to respond. ...

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The Glassblower's Legacy

When the glassblower died, his house remained. No one bought it, for it stood in a part of town for which no one had much use. Seasons made their rounds, and his home was delivered to its former population of slaves. These creatures, mere envelopes of glass, coiled through the gathering weeds - - reflections of themselves scribbled the walls when the sun passed overhead.

Within, the sculptured 'self-portrait' of the artist glared through a window, peering from the midst of creation. A swirli

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